by Jane Toombs
Dr. Kellogg shrugged. "It's up to you. Either he gets three days rest or you lose your investment in him."
Gauthier glared at the doctor for a long moment before turning abruptly to the women. "Take him to his quarters," he ordered. "Then get back to work, both of you." Again he spoke in French.
Sherman knew that Dr. Kellogg spoke perfectly good French, yet he used English with Gauthier, who was a Creole. Why?
As the slaves started away, Dr. Kellogg grasped Sherman's arm. "I'd like you to meet my assistant, Mr. Oso. Sherman, this is Monsieur Gauthier."
Gauthier hesitated, then offered his hand. As Sherman reached to grip it, the ground seemed to quiver beneath his feet. A reddish star disfigured the Creole's palm for an instant before vanishing.
Chapter 9
Sherman hid his shock as best he could, shaking Gauthier's hand and stepping back. The one other time he'd seen the red pentacle--on Don Alfonso's palm--he'd known the sign was to be feared. Now he knew why. Don Alfonso was dead, his throat torn out by the beast.
Was Gauthier to be the beast's next victim?
Sherman clenched his fists. Not if I leave Lac Belle before the next full moon, he assured himself.
"I'll concede one day of rest for Jacob," Gauthier said to Dr. Kellogg. "And that's more than he deserves."
The doctor shrugged. "You're paying for my advice." "That doesn't mean I have to take it. Good day to you, doctor." He nodded at Sherman without looking at him, swung on his heel and strode away.
Dr. Kellogg packed his insturments into his bag, fixed the bag to the gray's saddle and swung onto the horse. Sherman, still shaken, mounted Starfall and they rode back toward Lac Belle in silence.
"So you didn't care much for my neighbor," the doctor said finally. "Shows you've got good sense."
Sherman gathered himself together. Brooding over the pentacle solved nothing. He said the first thing that came into his head. "I noticed you spoke English to Monsieur Gauthier."
Dr. Kellogg chuckled. "We all have our devious conceits. It amuses me to speak English to Creoles I don't take to and French to Americans who offend me. So far I haven't been challenged."
Making an effort to be agreeable, Sherman said, "A man I met on the boat from Galveston explained Creoles to me--those of French or Spanish extraction born in New Orleans. Are you a Creole, sir?"
The doctor shook his head. "American, born and bred. Though I've lived among Creoles so long I sometimes feel I am one, as my wife was. And as my son is." He sighed. "I suppose I'll find Guy snoring in bed when we return."
Sherman did what he could to support Guy. "He couldn't keep anything down, sir, not even a cup of coffee."
Dr. Kellogg fixed his shrewd gaze on Sherman. "Do you drink?"
"I can't say I've never had a drink of liquor," Sherman replied cautiously.
"Ever been blind drunk like Guy was last night?"
"No, sir." He could hardly admit he didn't dare lose control.
"Didn't think so. Yet you're his age--about twenty aren't you?" At Sherman's nod, he went on. "Do you think it's unreasonable for me to want my son to follow in my footsteps, to become a doctor?"
How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? Sherman wondered unhappily. "I don't know either of you well, sir, but I'd say it depends on what Guy wants."
Dr. Kellogg waved an impatient hand. "He doesn't know what he wants. Few twenty-year-olds do. How about you--what do you want?"
Sherman told him the truth. "I want to make enough money to buy land in the wilderness and build myself a house where I can be alone."
The doctor blinked. "No bride to offer the comforts of home?"
Sherman shook his head emphatically.
"You don't care for women?" the doctor persisted. Feeling trapped, Sherman blurted, "I don't want children!"
"There are devices a man may use to enjoy women
without creating a child."
"Foolproof devices?"
The doctor frowned. "Nothing's foolproof in this imperfect world. But close to it, if a man remembers to use what's available. Unfortunately, a stiff prick makes an idiot out of the most intelligent of men and can turn an otherwise gentle man into a ravening beast."
Sherman started at the word beast, glancing nervously at him. The doctor reined in the gray, giving Sherman no choice but to bring Starfall to a halt there between the long rows of sugar cane. Surrounded by green, it was almost like being in a strange woods.
Dr. Kellogg smiled ruefully. "You're looking at me like a schoolboy expecting a whipping. Son, I don't whip anyone, including the Lac Belle Negroes. I was an Army doctor for much of my life and I saw enough brutality to last for an eternity. I wouldn't deliberately hurt you but one thing a doctor learns early is that a festering boil needs lancing. You're a troubled man, young as you are. If ever you can bring yourself to trust me, I promise I'll try to help you, no matter what your trouble is."
Sherman couldn't meet his gaze. The doctor meant well but if he knew what happened when the moon rose full he'd change his mind in a hurry.
"You think about what I've said," Dr. Kellogg urged.
"In the meantime I'd like to hire you as my assistant." Sherman couldn't believe his ears. "Your assistant?"
he echoed.
"Wasn't that how I introduced you to Gauthier? You're a natural healer, son. Whatever you said to poor Jacob calmed him and, I swear, even helped stop the bleeding. Such a talent mustn't go to waste. I need an assistant and I promise to teach you what I know. Are you willing to learn?" With dismay Sherman felt the sting of tears in his eyes and blinked them back. My God, what a generous offer! To be paid to work with this white-haired doctor he admired, to enjoy the comforts of Lac Belle--how he longed to say yes. But it was impossible. He opened his mouth to say so. "Wait!" Dr. Kellogg commanded. "Don't give me an answer immediately. Mull it over, talk to Guy, let the three of us get to know one another better."
Before Sherman could reply, the doctor kicked the gray into a trot. As he followed him, Sherman thought that Dr. Kellogg knew very well he meant to refuse and wouldn't give him the chance, hoping he'd change his mind.
Did he dare stay at Lac Belle? He sighed, knowing very well he couldn't. Not only to protect those who wanted to be his friends--Guy and his father--but also to protect the one he believed he was destined to kill. Whatever kind of a man Gauthier was he didn't deserve to have his throat torn out by the beast.
As they left the cane fields, Dr. Kellogg took a more roundabout route that brought them to the front drive. Sherman drew in his breath at his first real sight of the mansion. Six gleaming white columns rose two stories from the ground to brace the roof; a porch and a second floor balcony were recessed under the overhang. Sunlight glinted from the panes of three dormer windows, two chimneys rose to either side of the roof and from the middle a square tower flew the stars and stripes of the United States.
As they rode up the drive, he wondered if the doctor had deliberately chosen this route to dazzle him with the beauty of the house, for dazzled he surely was.
"Your home is magnificent, sir."
"I'm pleased you like it. I'm told the house is a fine example of Greek Revival architecture. Lac Belle was built by my brother-in-law, Guy La Branche, after the cannons from British ships in the river ruined their original plantation, La Belle, in 1812. General Jackson led us to victory over the British--a fine officer, a good man to fight under. But of course that war was before your time. I'm getting on, not too many of us old veterans left."
Sherman could hardly admit he'd never heard of any 1812 war. "You don't seem old to me, sir," he said finally. It was the truth. Despite his white hair, the doctor's ruddy face bespoke good health and he moved as easily as a young man.
"Ah, but you're looking at me from the outside. From
my point of view, on the inside looking out, I've come to realize seventy-six is a long, long way from twenty."
They continued on past green sweeps of lawn dotted with flowe
r beds and flowering shrubs to the stables,
"You'll dine with me at noon," Dr. Kellogg said as they dismounted. "I'll have Francois ring the bell."
At the garconniere, Sherman found Guy sprawled asleep on a settee in the downstairs sitting room. Before he could ease away, Guy opened his eyes and saw him. He sat up, groaning.
"The way I feel, I'll never take another drink," Guy said. "I owe you thanks for rescuing me again. What bloody mess was it this time?"
"One of the Le Noir Negroes cut himself with an axe." Guy winced. "Thank God I didn't have to be there. I can hardly bear the sight of blood at the best of times--and this isn't one of them."
"Your father hopes you'll be a doctor one day."
Guy shuddered. "Never! I can't. If only he would understand. But he pretends to believe I'll get over what he calls my squeamishness." Guy pounded his clenched fist against his chest. "My horror of blood and disease is embedded deep in my heart, I swear it is. I'll never change." He eyed Sherman. "How about you? I take it you didn't disgrace yourself by fainting, as I did once."
"I was uneasy at first," Sherman admitted, "but when I tried to help the injured man I forgot about how I felt." "Better you than me, then. What a blessing it would be for me if you'd stay on here and take my place as papa's assistant."
"Uh--your father did ask me. But--"
Guy sprang to his feet, threw his arms around Sherman, hugged him and, letting him go, cried, "You've saved my life, I swear it! And my head and stomach, too. I vow I'll never get drunk again if you agree."
"Your father didn't actually say I was to take your place."
Guy waved a dismissive hand. "A mere formality. Papa hates to give up on anything--especially me. He's no fool, though. Far from it. Now that he's found a replacement, the light will dawn. Ah, Sherman, you've almost made me believe in good angels. With you here, papa's sure to give in eventually and let me sail to France. I correspond with
La Branche cousins in Paris and they tell me I can learn more about painting and sketching in Europe in a few years than I could ever learn in America in a lifetime. You've no idea how I long to go, to be free to do what I wish to do with all my heart and soul." He smiled. "You must think me mad to ramble on like this."
Guy's smile triggered an almost-memory in Sherman. Sometime, somewhere, the other had smiled at him like that. The smile and the evocation of the past weakened his resolve to pack up and leave immediately. After all, the moon wouldn't be full for two weeks. As long as he made it clear to both Guy and his father that he couldn't remain permanently, he could stay on for at least a week without endangering anyone.
It was clear to him that Dr. Kellogg was wrong about Guy not knowing what he wanted to do with his life. Whether or not Sherman became the doctor's assistant, obviously Guy never could be. If he stayed on for awhile he might find words to help convince the doctor to let Guy choose his own calling.
"I can't promise how long I'll be here," he told Guy. "But you'll try working with papa?"
"For a week or so anyway. I need the money."
Guy raised an eyebrow but didn't comment directly. "Lac Belle, like a beautiful woman, is seductive," he warned.
"The place gets a hold on you. I yearn to leave and yet it'll be difficult for me to give up Lac Belle. You'll discover what I mean soon enough--but, then, perhaps you already have."
Beautiful as the mansion and the grounds were, Sherman thought, it wouldn't be Lac Belle but the people who lived there--Guy and his father--who'd be hard for him to leave. Immediately after the noon meal, Dr. Kellogg gave Sherman his first lesson in the anatomy of the human body, using an articulated skeleton and illustrated text-books. As he concentrated on memorizing the bones, Sherman couldn't help but wonder what his skeleton looked like. Completely human? And how about the organs that fitted so neatly within the human abdomen and chest--did he have something extra, an organ activated by the moon?
As his studies progressed, he longed even more to remain and learn all the doctor could teach him. If he knew everything there was to know about humans, maybe he'd find a clue to how he differed and how to control his difference. The doctor saw private patients in the morning and treated the ills of Lac Belle Negroes in the afternoon. He refused to work at night unless an emergency arose. By the end of the week Sherman was so fascinated with what he was learning and the work he was doing that he dreaded the thought of leaving.
"There are plenty of doctors in New Orleans," Dr. Kellogg told Sherman after their Saturday evening dinner as the three men lingered over coffee laced with brandy. "At seventy-six I should retire."
Francois slipped into the dining room and walked quickly to the doctor's side, bending to whisper in his ear. As he did, Guy hurriedly excused himself and, to Sherman's surprise, all but bolted from the room.
"Another?" the doctor said when Francois finished.
"Damn the man!" He rose, not seeming to notice Guy's absence. "I'll need your assistance, Sherman."
In the surgery, a shivering black boy of about eleven huddled in a chair, a plump Negro woman standing beside him. A tattered and bloody sheet covered the boy's shoulders. "Take the sheet off and get him on the table on his stomach," Dr. Kellogg ordered.
Sherman lifted off the bloody cloth as gently as he could but it stuck in spots and the boy moaned when he pulled it free. Sucking in his breath at the sight of the lacerated back, the skin hanging in ribbons, Sherman lifted the boy onto the padded wooden table. What monster would beat a boy so viciously?
"Courage," he murmured, as he had to Jacob. Knowing Dr. Kellogg would tell him what to do if he needed help, Sherman gripped the boy's hands in his and soothed him through the pain as the doctor washed the whip wounds with soap and water.
"You see what I'm doing?" Dr. Kellogg asked the woman. "Oui, docteur." Her voice was faint and frightened. "You must wash his back with clean water every day. Clean water, mind you. I'll give you a decoction of aloes to rub on--gently, gently, like I'm doing--for the pain. He's going to be badly scarred, I'm afraid. Remember, keep his wounds clean."
"Oui." Her voice was barely audible.
When Dr. Kellogg finished, Sherman lifted the boy's slight body from the table. "Where does he come from?" he asked the doctor in English.
The doctor scowled. "Le Noir, where else? She risked her life as well as the boy's to slip away to bring him to me. They must return before they're missed."
"He's too weak to walk. I'll carry him on horseback." Sherman's voice was grim.
"Don't go beyond the edge of our property. If Gauthier catches you on Le Noir ground with one of his slaves, he'll have an excuse to shoot you. And, no, I'm not exaggerating. The man has no conscience."
After Ponce saddled Rawhide, Sherman rode through the night with the boy lying across his knees and the woman holding on behind him. The closer he came to Le Noir, the hotter his fury blazed. Gauthier's plantation was well named--it must seem like perpetual night to the slaves who lived there. No one deserved to be beaten until the skin of his back was in shreds--and certainly not a boy.
"Stop here, monsieur." He barely heard the woman's whisper.
"I'll take you all the way."
Her voice rose. "No! He'll shoot you and he'll beat us for sure. Louis will die, then. Please, monsieur, stop." The thought of Gauthier beating the boy again made Sherman pause. He'd been warned twice--by the doctor and by the woman. They knew local customs better than he did. He reined in Rawhide and the woman slipped off.
"Set Louis on my back, please, monsieur."
Carrying the boy piggy-back, she vanished into the darkness between the rows of cane. Still angry, Sherman rode back to Lac Belle.
"Can't Gauthier be stopped?" he asked the doctor.
Dr. Kellogg sighed. "In New Orleans, in all of Louisiana, slaves are property. Gauthier owns his in exactly the same way as he owns his plantation. If he chooses to burn down his house, I have no right by law to stop him and neither does any other man. If he whips a slave into raw meat,
the same holds true."
Sherman clenched his fists. "But he's worse than a beast."
"I can't deny that. But if I should try to interfere, he'd very likely kill me and get off scot free by claiming I was inciting his slaves to rebel against him. New Orleanians are fearful of a slave rebellion--after all, the Negroes outnumber us."
The doctor ran a hand through his hair. "I once thought I could never bear to be a slave owner. Strictly speaking, I'm not, yet I profit from our Lac Belle slaves. If I could, I'd free every Negro here but they're not mine to free.
They, as well as Lac Belle, belong to Guy. We couldn't run the plantation without slaves. For us, it's free the Negroes and give up Lac Belle, or keep them slaves. I alleviate my guilt by treating them humanely and teaching the children to read and write and do sums."
Sherman remained silent, tamping down his still simmering anger. It was Gauthier he despised, not Dr. Kellogg. He had no right to vent his rage on the doctor.
"By the way," the doctor said, "I heard you speaking to little Louis in the same tongue as you did to Jacob. It's a language I'm not familiar with."
Sherman thought quickly. He knew very well what he'd said to both Jacob and Louis in his own tongue but it was impossible to admit he had no idea what language it was. He licked dry lips. "Uh--they're just nonsense words I use to soothe my horses. In California I broke and trained horses." "Your words seem to work on humans, too. Or perhaps it's your touch. Or a combination of the two. You have a definite soothing effect on those in pain, son--it's a great gift you shouldn't limit to horses. And you're bright. I don't believe I've ever seen anyone master anatomy quite so quickly. You'll make an excellent doctor."
Not when the moon is full, Sherman thought grimly. "Thank you, sir," he managed to say.
Later, alone in the garconniere, he tried desperately to come up with a way to remain at Lac Belle. He wanted with all his heart and soul to stay with Dr. Kellogg and learn more about medicine, wanted to spend his life healing others. He longed to become a doctor as badly as Guy wished to be an artist. And more, he felt at home with both Guy and his father. Almost as though they were kin.
